It took close on eight hours, the vigil
the waiting
story-telling
sitting
texting on our phones
eating sloppy white chips from the Spur
and Easter eggs
and the brandy which Peta went home for (in a flask)

Two daughters
a sister
and a wife
one son-in-law
and one son-in-law to be
called at less than the notice of a moment

The sitting
The hot stuffy waiting lounge
The quiet
The loo with the loud squeaky door
The kindness of the nurses

The fear
The indescribable hope

Reading Getaway magazines
and recipe books
wishing we had Scrabble, because reading
somehow became impossible as the night wore on.

Four hours
then five:
out of relativity
time seemed to have found a slippery slope

And finally, the glamorous heart surgeon
with her dangly earrings

and her cautious optimism

And we were so surprised to be allowed to see Dad
on his back
behind the glass
with a tube over his nose

And on the machine
the green line - the one on top
a steady beeping pulse
someone else's heart in my Dad's body
someone else's heart
which has now, extraordinarily,
become his.

And all the while aware
of the other family
the family who are tonight muted in shock and grief

They have donated their hope to us
for nothing in return but some inestimable measure,
apportioned somehow by the cosmos,
of our very careful
contained
awed
joy